Thunerlane sits in a classroom at the Royal Guard Headquarters, staring at the bland, gray tabletop in front of him. Whoever used the table before him had scribbled “Crack Shot was here!” with crosshairs underneath it using hard strokes of a pen that left ink filled scratches.

The rest of the team is talking amongst themselves, with Fire Streak talking to Spitfire, Fleetfoot conversing with Misty, and Silver Lining trying to squeeze his fantasy information out of Rainbow Dash. Thunderlane is all alone and is refusing to look up from his table. Even though his jaw no longer hurts, he dares not look at Rainbow Dash after his big screw up, and the last thing he wants is Silver Lining to talk to him. He actually only peeks up from his fantastically boring view of the desk when he hears Spitfire respond with more than two words.

“Well, thanks to the geniuses in office, we are severely understaffed with a shit bucket of a budget,” says Spitfire sourly without taking her eyes off of the paperwork she's looking through, now wearing the gold sun of the Major on her Wonderbolts uniform.

“And yet we still have some kickass stuff,” says Fire Streak, wearing the gold bar of Second Lieutenant. “But budget and ponypower or not, this-” he points at Rainbow Dash and Thunderlane “-is just ridiculous.”

“Hey, I’m fine! Even Thunderlane is fine and he got blasted into a wall!” claims Rainbow Dash, having to raise her voice so he can hear her from across the room.

“You two were in a bombing! You should be on vacation!”

Rainbow Dash dismisses Fire Streak with a wave of her hoof. “Nah, we’re fine. A day of relaxation is enough.”

“Coming from you, that’s surprising,” says Misty deadpanned.

The group snickers and even Thunderlane cracks a small smile, but Spitfire puts no emotional investment into the conversation. Instead, she chooses to put her entire focus on the overstuffed folder, leaving Rainbow Dash without a friend in the room.

“What’s that supposed to mean!” says Rainbow Dash with a sneer.

“You’re the kind of pony that will sleep in a laundry basket if it meant a nap,” explains Misty.

“Which was actually kinda cute,” adds Fire Streak, soon to get a wing slap from Fleetfoot that he dismisses with a shameless shrug and smile.

“I-I was tired!” stammers Rainbow Dash defensively. “It was a hard day and-”

“You just can’t resist the smell of blueberries and a fluffy blanket,” interrupts Misty with a cruel grin.

“Wait, how did Rainbow fit into a laundry basket?” questions Thunderlane with a slight raise of his hoof. He can't help himself on this one. He has to know how the Element of Loyalty managed to squeeze herself in such a small space.

“Like this.”

Rainbow Dash’s vibrant colors drain right as Misty pulls out a picture from her pouch and shows it to Thunderlane. He squints his eyes to take a better look, and much to his surprise, Rainbow Dash has found a way to scrunch up inside a large laundry basket. Granted, her tail is dangling out, but it still doesn’t hinder how adorable she looks. Soon enough, Thunderlane feels his cheeks burn lightly, so he forces himself to look away lest he wants to invite a reason to be teased or get punched again. He looks away too late, though.

“Ha! Thunderlane is blushing!” laughs Silver Lining.

Rainbow Dash tries to take the picture away, but Misty zips away and tucks it back to her pouch, taunting Rainbow Dash with her smile and a pat on the photo’s home.

“Why are you even carrying that around!” demands Rainbow Dash.

“Am I going to have to separate you two?” asks Spitfire without looking up from her papers.

“Maybe,” grumbles Rainbow Dash.

Spitfire barely lowers her sunglasses so that Rainbow Dash can see her orange eyes challenging her to repeat herself.

“I mean: No, ma’am,” corrects the rainbow mare swiftly.

“Good.” Spitfire pushes her sunglasses back in place. “Leisure time is over, it’s on to business, so everypony have a seat.”

The Wonderbolts take a seat, with Thunderlane and Rainbow Dash in the very back, Fire Streak sitting close to Spitfire, Fleetfoot next to him, and Misty and Silver Lining sitting in the middle. Spitfire waits for the group to adjust themselves before starting her briefing.

“As everypony knows, Bernese is on the war path and promised retribution for what has happened to their Generals,” begins Spitfire. “The suits at the CDA and EIB believe that the bombing at the Stadium was the attack promised, and Soarin has called the Royal Security Council together to decide the appropriate course of action. Our job will be to act as security, with us assisting Lieutenant Flash Sentry and his MP's. We will cover the interior, and Lieutenants Lightning Dust and Oliver Bolt will cover the exterior security.”

“Are we expecting another attack?” asks Silver Lining.

“I cannot say. Directors Fuller and Cluster are searching all leads, but as far as everypony is concerned, we act with the expectation of one. This is all last minute, and we all need to be alert and go beyond our best to ensure that there is no room for another opportunity to attack, got it?”

“Yes, ma'am!” says the team in unison.

“Good. Now let's suit up.”

Spitfire's team has to go to the basement of the Royal Guard Headquarters since that is where their designated suits are stored. The armor that Research and Development designed for the Wonderbolts has been dubbed the Chrysaor Suit, named after the program that built and retrained the elite force for it. After Chrysaor's creation barely a year ago, each Wonderbolt has been assigned a suit and the advanced armor is ferried to every location they will be at via sealed metal crates. Once the crates are opened, it takes a team of technicians to put the Suit on the Wonderbolt due to its complex nature. The only thing the Wonderbolts can do without the help of the technicians is put on their jumpsuits, and once that is done, the technicians puts them in their armor, piece by piece, like a giant three dimensional puzzle.

It takes a team of four technicians ten minutes to put on a Chrysaor Suits for the selected pony, and when they are finished, it really is a symbol of technological advancement.

The Wonderbolt's new combat armor consists of sleek metal pads that are insulated to allow comfort for high flights and have gel pads inside to dampen hard landings. The parts that are not covered by the pads, such as the joints, wing bases and feathers, are protected with thick, insulated cloth that has been designed to endure extreme temperatures. The tails resemble a scorpion as they are protected by an armor network that allows for a wide range of movement and has a large blade at the end, and attached to the back of the armor are air tanks that connect to their gas-mask designed helmets. The last two features to top it off are the armored radio equipment and the interchangeable battle saddles.

For the battle saddles, Thunderlane has chosen the bolt action model while Rainbow Dash and Spitfire carry dual mini-Gatling guns. Fire Streak has armed himself with a large shotgun; Silver Lining has a sniper rifle with a fat scope; and Fleetfoot and Misty have chosen the Shire and Waler Rapid-Fire Models. They are slender compared to the other weapons and have their ammunition stored in fifty round drums, and unlike the Gatling guns, they are lighter and have longer barrels for better accuracy.

To top it off, the Suit's are painted blue with gold trim located at the hooves, and each one has the Wonderbolts seal on the flanks and the wearer's cutie mark and surname on the cuirass.

Spitfire's team is about finished suiting up, all they have to do is put their full-faced helmets on, but they are not doing that since they prefer making their final check ups without having their faces stuffed inside big cans. While everyone inspects their weapons, counts their ammo and makes last minute adjustments to their Suits with the help of the technicians, Fire Streak stares longingly at his prized weapon. A large, cylindrical device laying on a foam bed inside a metal crate with three red tipped rockets next to it.

“I still think I should carry my cannon,” says Fire Streak.

“And kill everypony around you with a misfire? No,” says Spitfire while she squirms slightly in her spot from a unicorn twisting the knobs on her air tanks. “Our primary objective, as ordered by Soarin, is to remain close to him, and I do not want to pick up his body parts because of a rogue rocket.”

Fire Streak sighs with disappointment and closes the container, which has his cutie mark imprinted on it. Even the hiss of air that escapes it sounds depressed as the cannon is closed off from the rest of the world. He nods to a couple of soldiers dressed in tan with blue helmets and arm bands with “MP” printed in white on both of them. The soldiers quietly push the case away and Fire Streak stands by Spitfire, awaiting further instruction.

Meanwhile, Thunderlane is halfheartedly checking his movements and is -as usual- the last to get done with the technicians' main testing. If he didn't know any better, he'd think they assigned the slowest technicians to him on purpose.

But despite the thickness of the armor and all the gear that is packed on it, it does not feel as heavy as he thinks it should. His limbs move with ease under the layers of protective metal, gel padding and chain-mail, and his bladed tail moves with minimal guidance from his stubby, natural tail. Thunderlane makes sure the coast is clear when he does the tail test and gets a small smile when he sees the sleek blade at the end of the lengthy metal stream slice through the air with a satisfying woosh. Though, he does cringe when the blade drops against the floor with a metallic thud. Luckily his team and their technicians are too wrapped up in their final preparations to notice. Unluckily the slowpoke technicians assigned to him fully noticed and gave him varying looks of annoyance. Thunderlane smiles sheepishly and a couple of his technicians move to his sides and start doing some obscure work that leaves the soldier confused.

“I take it the tail blade works fine,” says one of the technicians as he scribbles on his pad using his magic to guide the pen.

Thunderlane nods. “Yes, sir.”

“How's the helmet?”

Thunderlane sits down to slip his helmet on. It is hanging on a hook with a strong magnet behind it that is built on his vest and is connected to his suit by thick air tubes that pump oxygen from the tanks on his back so he does not suffocate. He is glad they put that feature in because every time he puts the helmet on, he feels claustrophobia creep in just a little bit further, just waiting for the perfect moment to poison him for the rest of his life. Besides, suffocation is the last thing he needs when wearing the Chrysaor Suit.

When Thunderlane puts his helmet on, there is a series of clicks and his breathing becomes amplified in his ears while his line of sight is put at the mercy of two lenses from his goggles. He can feel the admittedly comfortable padding pressing against his face as he wiggles the casing for a better fit, and once done, he drops his hooves and moves his head.

Thunderlane looks left. Then right. Up. Down. Head roll. He does it all, and nothing seems out of the ordinary with the fluid motions.

Thunderlane's smile is hidden behind his helmet, and his hoof presses the side of it to activate the speakers, which turn on with a crackle and pop.

“Everything seems fine, sir,” says Thunderlane, his voice sounding a little fuzzy over the speakers.

The technician nods and scribbles something on his notes. “Good. Now I'm going to remove your ammo, and I need you to tell me if the warning light is working, clear?”

Again, Thunderlane nods. “Yes, sir.”

The technician's horn glows, and Thunderlane's ammo clip pops loose. Not even a second passes before a buzzer stabs at his ear drums with a red light bathing his interior. The light actually blinds Thunderlane for a moment and the buzzer makes him flinch, but due to his armor, no one can see his embarrassing reaction.

“The light's on and the buzzer is loud,” says Thunderlane, quickly adding: “Sir.”

The technician scribbles something down on his pad and then he slides the clip on a slot connected to a mechanical arm that is built on a network of gears.

“Hit the reload lever,” orders the technician.

Thunderlane's hoof pushes down on the lever, and once it is all the way down it pops back up and the gears click as the arm lifts up. Right as the clip inside the arm's grip slides in place, the red light in Thunderlane's helmet is replaced with a bright green light that fades seconds later and a pleasant ding rings in his ears. The mechanical arm, now free of the clip, travels back down and clamps on a spare clip which the technician notes with a bored look.

“Did the replenishment signal work?” asks the technician.

“Yes, sir,” replies Thunderlane.

“Good. I'm done here.”

And that is that. The technician slides his pad into his saddlebag and strolls away with the others, leaving Thunderlane to stare at him blankly behind his helmet. Seconds later, Thunderlane decides to remove the helmet since the test is over and he likes to breath real air, not the stuff inside a padded tin can that pretends to be air.

As Thunderlane clips his helmet back on its hook, he glances at Rainbow Dash out of the corner of his eye and mentally recalls Silver Lining's kinky claim. Rainbow Dash is talking to her one of technicians and flexing her hoof and nodding about something, but when she feels Thunderlane's eyes on her, she looks back at him, frowning. Thunderlane quickly looks away and pretends to be doing something else.

“Baby train,” coughs Silver Lining right into Thunderlane's ear.

Thunderlane jumps and glowers at Silver Lining while the bane of his morning walk towards Spitfire and Fire Streak, snickering along the way. Thunderlane shakes his head and goes to sit down on a metal crate and runs his hoof through his mane while letting out an exasperated sigh. Brushing his mane proves to be a poor choice for him since the metal scrapes against his scalp with very uncomfortable results, but at this moment, he doesn't care. The only thing he can really think about is how he completely blew it with Rainbow Dash, and as he thinks how the morning went, a thought crosses his mind that makes his brows scrunch.

“Wait a second? I said we rested, not cuddled,” says Thunderlane in a recap of the strange conversation he had with Silver Lining before Rainbow Dash showed up and punched him in the face. With that little thought, Thunderlane groans and slams his hood against the side of his head, giving him a headache and ringing ears that he knows he fully deserves. “Stupid! You are stupid!”

Thunderlane lowers his hoof and head with an exasperated sigh, and then he shuts his eyes and presses his armored hooves against forehead. He can hear the cheerful chatter of his team, but it does nothing to ease the pain he is in as he realizes that he put another tally on his fail chart. The only consolation is that his current fail is not as severe or life threatening as the previous one, or that it has nothing to do with his place in his family. However, now that he thinks about it, fornication amongst teammates is strictly prohibited in the military, and even though he and Dash did not do the deed, Silver Lining's sick mind has already convinced him otherwise.

And the last time he saw that stallion-

“Hurricane!” barks Spitfire, making the dark furred stallion jump and look at Spitfire with wide eyes and drooped ears. “Over here, now!”

“Yes, ma'am!” yells Thunderlane with a shaky voice.

Thunderlane's throat feels as though it is blocked by a stone as he walks briskly towards the Major. Silver Lining is walking away from the team leads with that wolfish smile that Thunderlane has quickly grown to hate, but he is too nervous to give his superior a glare of his own. His body trembles under his armor and his drooped ears flick as the whispers of his team snake their way in. Along the way, he and Rainbow Dash trade looks, but when she looks away to stare at Silver Lining with homicidal hate, Thunderlane looks down and picks up his pace. The short trip of hundred feet seems like a mile to him, and his brain can only think of one thing: Silver Lining told a big fat lie to Spitfire and Fire Streak, and now you're dead. Enjoy the Afterlife.

Thunderlane gulps when he is in front of Spitfire and Fire Streak, and he stands stiff as his hoof snaps to his forehead in salute. “Airstallion Hurricane reports as ordered, ma'am!”

Fire Streak arches a brow while he and Spitfire return the salute, careful to keep the custom talons on her hoof from slicing her face.

“At ease,” says Spitfire.

The hooves drop and Fire Streak asks: “Are you okay, Thunderlane? You're looking a little sick.”

“I'm fine, sir,” says Thunderlane, his voice shaking and heavy heart giving the illusion that it is pumping out an endless supply of sweat.

Fire Streak frowns skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” says Spitfire quickly. “ I want you to meet me and Streak at Pad B when we meet with Bolt and Dust to recap the objectives.”

“Me, ma'am?”

“Yes. That is what I said.”

“But, with all do respect-”

“Do not use that on me.”

Thunderlane shrinks slightly. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Me and Streak are leaving right now, and Lining will take the team to the main tower to guard Soarin while I'm away. But you are going to get me a cup of coffee. Dark, fine grind, with three scoops of sugar and three caps of almond creme.”

Thunderlane blinks blankly at the Major. “Sorry? I-I mean, sorry, ma'am?”

Spitfire glances to the ceiling, lips pursed in a mockery of hard thinking, completely ignoring Thunderlane's confusion. “And bring me a toasted plain bagel with lots of almond cream cheese while you're at it. Do you want anything, Streak?”

“A cherry soda and some cheese crackers sounds nice,” says Fire Streak with a smile.

“Get a cherry soda and cheese crackers for Lieutenant Streak. Fly to it, Hurricane!”

Thunderlane's hoof snaps up to a salute and he gallops out of the room, leaving the snickering and ever watchful eyes of his team behind.

Spitfire, Fire Streak and the rest of the team watches Thunderlane hurry towards the door, with each of his steps creating a metallic bang. When he exits the room, Fire Streak looks at his superior while everyone resumes their business, still giggling amongst themselves. All except for Rainbow Dash, anyway. She just rolls her eyes and approaches Fleetfoot.

“So, do you think Silver Lining's claim is true?” asks Fire Streak as he watches Rainbow Dash converse with Fleetfoot.

Spitfire snorts. “No. That colt's going to die a virgin. I just know it.”

Fire Streak looks at her with an amused smile tugging at his lips. “And what about the secretary stuff you're having Hurricane do?”

Now it is Spitfire's turn to smile. “He's not much of a soldier, so he has to be good for something.” Spitfire then pushes a special lever on her suit and her sunglasses roll over her head and plop down snugly on her muzzle, covering her fierce eyes. Once the shaded lenses are in place, she starts towards the door. “C'mon, let's get out of here. We got work to do.”

With a shake of his head, Fire Streak chuckles and follows his superior out.

Thunderlane feels awkward when he walks inside the brightly lit lounge wearing his advanced suit of armor with his helmet still clipped to the magnet-hook. He feels only slightly better when he does not see anyone, but flicker of relief is put out by dread that the universe has blown at him. Sitting not too far from him, listening to the dial radio and reading The Mentally Inferior's Guide to Playing Guitars, is First Lieutenant Flash Sentry.

The Lieutenant is wearing his crisp blue uniform with the gold trim and has his silver bar insignias polished. Thunderlane hopes he will keep himself hidden if he walks carefully and quietly across the floor to the coffee machine. Every step taken sends an unpleasant spike through his heart, though, since his steps sound like a giant set of metal bars thumping against the tiled floor.

A few awkward seconds later, Flash Sentry looks up with a brow raised and Thunderlane's cheeks and ears burn with embarrassment as he smiles apologetically.

“Sorry, sir. I'm just-” Thunderlane moves a couple of chairs blocking his way “-I'm just getting some coffee and soda.”

Flash Sentry nods slowly, speaking just as slow. “Okay then.”

Flash Sentry resumes his reading, Thunderlane continues disturbing the peace with his metal thumps and scraping chairs, and the radio continues talking. When Thunderlane reaches the pantry, he has to put his front hooves on the counter and strain his neck to open it with his mouth since he can't get a good grip with the massive plates on his hooves. This makes the counter groan and splinter, and he recoils with a tightly sealed container of coffee in his mouth and two hoof indents on the counter. He nervously glances over his shoulder and sees Flash Sentry is still reading, and he looks back at the indents, sighs in disappointment and brings the coffee to the machine.

The coffeemaker hisses at him and a puff of steam shoots out from an exhaust pipe aimed away from the wall and pantries. Thunderlane ignores this unpleasant greeting and gets to work making coffee for his superior. Though, while doing this pivotal task, the boring stallion on the radio catches his attention, and since all he is doing now is mostly waiting, he turns his attention to the radio.

“...The escape of League of Justice's Gray Muffin from Black Sun Prison Island has left authorities baffled. Director Fuller of the Civilian Defense Agency has issued a nationwide warning for civilians to avoid contact with the escaped terrorist and to alert the nearest CDA, EIB or Royal Guard hub of his whereabouts. He has been described as an earth pony in his late fifties, has a gray-brown coat with a muffin cutie mark and walks with a limp.”

Thunderlane watches the radio, thinking about how the League of Justice eviscerated his convoy a year back and Soarin's rampage afterwords that left the region bare. The only thing he knows about Gray Muffin is that he was one of Roar Shock's top guys, tried to turn the Celestial Spire into a giant biological weapon, and almost killed Mare-Do-Well with a robot suit of his own.

With those thoughts in mind, Thunderlane lowers his eyes and goes to the fridge to complete his order, hoping that they will catch Gray Muffin soon. Though, such thoughts vanish when he opens the fridge and sees it tightly packed with delicious drinks and cold snacks that would make a foal think that a junk food feast is in order. However, despite the large assortment of colorful containers, finding the right flavor of soda is not difficult and neither is finding the cream cheese and coffee creme. As Thunderlane goes to grab the bagels and snacks, he hears Flash Sentry push his chair out with a grind followed by his hoofsteps approaching him.

Thunderlane keeps himself busy by slicing the bagels on a counter-mounted blade and clumsily slides them in a convectional oven before starting his search for a food container. When Flash Sentry is next to him, he glances at the Lieutenant out of the corner of his eye while trying to force his nervous sweat to stay inside his pores. It doesn't work as well as he would like.

“You're General Hurricane's kid, aren't you?” asks Flash Sentry.

Thundrlane's jaw tightens and his hoof shakes under his armor as he continues the search for a container, this time checking the pantries.

“Yes, sir,” says Thunderlane timidly.

Flash Sentry nods and speaks after pulling out a styrofoam container from a bottom level pantry and setting it next to Thunderlane. “I heard about what happened to you and your brother. You have my condolences and I wish him a great recovery.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Thunderlane grabs the now completed coffee and pours it in a travel cup, then he mixes in the appropriate amount of crème, the whole time with Flash Sentry's eyes on him. The constant staring sends an uneasy shiver up his spine and his movements become sloppy when he starts looking for the cheese crackers. After knocking over a snack box with a beaver holding a marshmallow on a stick over a flame, Flash Sentry snorts a laugh, making Thunderlane cringe in embarrassment for the second time in the span of a few minutes.

“I'll get out of your mane,” he says, and as he walks to the door, he adds: “Give Major Temper my regards.”

“Yes, sir,” says Thunderlane with a small nod.

Thunderlane waits until he hears the door open and shut, then he looks over his shoulder and sees that he is alone in the room with only a radio for company.

“And now a word from our sponsors,” says a bored stallion over the radio.

It switches to another stallion with an overly enthusiastic voice over the sounds of shuffling cards, sporadic dinging and what sounds like an avalanche of coins dropping. “Does your life suck? Do you want more money? Or do you want just want an afternoon of fun? Well, now's your chance to put all your woes behind you by dropping by the Card Casino for food, games, and magic shows!”

Thunderlane groans and bangs his head on the counter.

A few minutes later, Thunderlane lands a few paces away from Spitfire, Fire Streak and three other ponies -two mares and one stallion- wearing Chrysaor Suits.

The stallion is in the lead and looks like an olive turned pony with his olive drab coat and a dark mane. A set of three lightning bolts made to look like a wing is painted on his blue cuirass, and underneath his symbol is his surname: Bolt.

One of the mares behind him has a red coat, a tied back golden mane and a rolling cloud for her symbol. Her surname is marked as Cover.

The second mare has a yellow coat, a sleek, jet black mane and three lines connected by an arrow tip as her symbol. Beneath that, Zone is printed.

Bolt is having a respectful conversation with Spitfire and Fire Streak, nodding and voicing his approval and understanding of the Major's direction whereas the two mares remain silent.

They glance at Thunderlane as he approaches with the container of goodies in his mouth. Thunderlane already feels ridiculous enough carrying such a thing in his mouth while wearing the most advanced suit of armor in the world, and he doesn't feel any better when Cover smirks at him. Then Zone raises a brow and snorts while giving her wings a brief flap, clearly unimpressed with his entrance. That sends a swift buck to the gonads of Thunderlane's dignity, and he lowers his eyes while his cheeks and drooped ears heat up with another wave of embarrassment.

Thunderlane approaches his superiors, noting how the olive pony has slowed his talking to a halt just so he can stare at him, making the situation more awkward for him.

Thunderlane tries to ignore the olive pony as he places the container next to Spitfire's hoof and brings his up for a salute, prompting his superior to look at him.

“Ma'am, Airstallion Hurricane reporting back with meal,” says Thunderlane.

Spitfire returns the salute. “At ease.”

Thunderlane lowers his hoof, and Fire Streak goes by the container and watches Spitfire carefully take the coffee container out. Once her head is out of the way, he grabs the soda bottle, bites the cap off and carelessly spits it out like a sunflower seed.

“Thanks, Hurricane,” says Fire Streak with a friendly smile before taking a big gulp of the red, carbonated elixir of happiness.

“You're welcome, sir,” says Thunderlane quickly. “And, Major, ma'am, Lieutenant Sentry gives his regards.”

Spitfire rolls her eyes and sips her coffee, then glances at Thunderlane. At first he thinks she's going to rip him a new hole for screwing up her coffee, but...

“Glad you could do something right,” says the Major.

That remark still hurts a little, but there is that tiny light in the darkness of disappointment to warm up Thunderlane. He is good at making coffee. He now has a use.

“Hurricane!” shouts Bolt excitedly with a stomp of his hoof, making Thunderlane jump in his spot and stare at him with his golden eyes enlarged from surprise. “Goddess-damn, I haven't seen you in years! How you doing, old buddy, old pal?”

“Uh... Fine?” replies Thunderlane uncertainly.

“Fine? You don't look fine! You look like a depressed secretary!”

“Do I know you?”

“Don't tell me you forgot about me.”

Thunderlane blinks in confusion, mind completely blank as to who this stallion is, and, in return, the one known as Bolt releases a fake exasperated sigh.

“Hurricane, it's me. Oliver Bolt. Cloud Five-Oh-Five. I was in Element One in the cot across from yours,” he says.

Thunderlane remains silent as he searches his brain for a memory relating Oliver Bolt's clues. He's a bit fuzzy, but he does remember a complete douche bag sleeping across from him during his training.

“I was the one that told Burnside that you were the one sneaking snacks and trying to flush the wrappers down the toilet when it was actually me,” adds Oliver with a proud smile.

“THAT WAS YOU!?!?” screams Thunderlane furiously, ending with a ferocious growl with his wings fully expanded, nostrils flared and teeth ground tight against each other.

Thunderlane's rage-crazed, sonic boom of a yell sends distant birds flapping and cawing in a mad flight to escape whatever Hell is about to be unleashed, but the ponies remain where they are. Though, Fire Streak blinks with big eyes and ears folded against his skull while Spitfire merely sips her coffee, completely calm about Thunderlane nearly deafening everyone with his scream.

“Sure, now you remember me,” remarks Oliver Bolt with a roll of his eyes.

“Do you realize how much pain I was in after Burnside was finished with me!?”

“Yeah,” says the olive colored stallion with feigned guilt as he rubs his armored hoof against the concrete. “I wanted to say that it was that skinny guy with the dead tooth, but your name came out first. Sorry.”

Thunderlane's eye twitches, vocabulary at a complete loss and air devoid from his lungs as the revelation of the meaning behind an unexpected corporal punishment oozes in like hot tar. His face burns and his muscles ache to shoot his armored hoof right into Oliver's kisser to destroy that picture perfect smile for what he has done.

“But, what's done is done and all we can do is forgive and forget,” says Oliver with a smirk. Then he tilts his nose up with his hoof to his chest like an elitist snob. “In fact, I've repented my douche-y ways for I have matured in the ways of military bearing and now I got my own team. That's what initiative, intelligence and a backbone can get you.”

“Something a certain pony next to me lacks completely,” comments Spitfire harshly before sipping her cup of coffee.

Thunderlane's frown deepens and his ears droop as he stares at the concrete with Spitfire's words chiseling themselves into his memory. Then he feels a hoof go around his neck, and next thing he knows, he is tugged next to Oliver, who is grinning from ear to ear. Thunderlane meets his grin with half-lidded, narrowed eyes with another dose of hatred for the pony responsible for one of the worst mornings of his life.

“I think your problem is that you're too much of a rug, Hurricane,” says Oliver. Then he turns his attention to the other Wonderbolts. “We always joked that this guy was born from a rug when he bunked with our Cloud. But, as much crap as I give him, I will admit he did come in handy during the Discord Course when it came to weather covers.” Oliver looks at Thunderlane questionably. “What was your nickname, again? Cloudy? Stormy? Steve?”

“You called me Stormy, everypony else called me Storm Cloud, and both of those were stupid nicknames,” says Thunderlane, his tone burning with hostility towards the olive pony as he pulls himself away from the unwanted hug.

“Well, of course we'd call you that because making storms was the only thing you were good at!”

Oliver laughs again and pats Thunderlane hard on the back, making the charcoal colored pegasus stumble a bit in his spot. Thunderlane gives Oliver another harsh stare after he regains his footing, but the olive looking stallion ignores that and turns his attention to Fire Streak and Spitfire.

“You guys remember the Discord Course, right?” says Oliver.

“How could I forget?” chuckles Fire Streak. “That was one helluva retraining. Although, I did like the Capture the Flag matches. Those were always fun.”

Oliver links his around Thunderlane's neck again. “Yeah, and I will always thank Hurricane for making us the undefeated champions with his awesome clouds.”

Thunderlane tries to leave Oliver's side, again, but his is tugged back in place, making him raise a front hoof and grunt in the process.

“Hey, Thunderlane, why don't you tell Major Temper about that one time you created a rain storm so heavy it knocked out the electricity?” asks Oliver with a devious smirk..

“That was an accident,” grumbles Thunderlane.

“A hilarious accident.”

Before Thunderlane gets an opportunity to explain how painful his consequences were for that fiasco, Lightning Dust flies in with two stallion Wonderbolts. Like Oliver and his wingmates, the new arrivals have their helmets clipped to their cuirasses so that everyone can see their faces, and Thunderlane can tell that the lead mare has not changed one bit. She still has a fire in her eyes that demands nothing less than the best, and she has yet to lose the same smug smile and cocky demeanor that she carried with her all throughout training. Only now it seems to be worse since she is actually leading a team.

The first stallion has a gray coat with a white mane with Cumulus printed underneath his symbol. The symbol consists two half circles with the top one being considerably smaller than the one below it and its flat bottom resting on the lower one's crest.

The second has a blue coat and a sea green mane with a water droplet on his curiass. Printed below the symbol is Point.

The two stallions escorting Lightning Dust break away from her and stand at attention next to Oliver's mares while she trots forward with her cocky smile and chest puffed out as far as her suit will allow.

Oliver's hoof slides off of Thunderlane, and the charcoal pegasus averts his eyes so he doesn't have to look at Lightning Dust's condescending demeanor. Though, when Lightning Dust sees Thunderlane, her smile warps from smug to disgust and rather than returning the look, he keeps his eyes to the pavement.

Lightning Dust flaps her wings once. “Hurricane.”

“Dust,” grumbles Thunderlane, eyes still on the concrete.

“Nice to see you reporting in, Lieutenant,” says Spitfire sharply.

Lightning Dust snaps to Spitfire with a crisp salute. “Ma'am, Second Lieutenant Dust reports, as ordered!”

Spitfire halfheartedly returns the salute. “What's the news, Dust?”

“My ponies are ready to take to the skies, ma'am.”

“Good. Remain as inner perimeter security, as discussed.”

“But, with all do respect, my team holds better markings than Lieutenant Bolt and his pegasi. We should take the outer perimeter on this.”

Spitfire's face scrunches and her steps shake the concrete as she moves closer to Lightning Dust until the light turquoise mare can see her reflection in the Captain's sunglasses. Lightning Dust remains passively defiant, though, and meets Spitfire's scowl with a steady gaze.

“Lieutenant Dust, did you forget how miserably your team failed at recon? Or am I going to have to remind you by comparing you and Bolt's scores?” says Spitfire with a raised voice.

Oliver smiles smugly at Lightning Dust, and she returns it with a deep frown and a glare from the corner of her eye, but still silent in regards to her superior. Though, the olive colored stallion's smile disappears when Spitfire turns her wrath on him.

“Wipe that smile off your face or I'll make it come off!” snaps Spitfire.

Oliver stiffens. “Yes, ma'am!”

“Now, I don't need to remind you two of the gravity of the situation. I'm expecting no slacking for anypony and we'll stick to the plan. Bolt, patrol the outside and respond to any outer threats picked up by the outposts. Dust, remain on the HQ grounds and be ready to fly for assistance where needed. My team will be inside with the Generals and Lieutenant Flash Sentry. I'll be waiting for a status report every five minutes, got it?”

Oliver and Lightning Dust's hooves snap up in salute. “Yes, ma'am!”

“Good. Dismissed.”

The two pegasi drop their hooves and fly off with their escorts without another word, and Spitfire turns around to look at the two stallions under her command. “Let's get to work.”

Thunderlane and Fire Streak are quick to salute and say in unison: “Yes, ma'am!”

Ten minutes later, Thunderlane is with the rest of the team at the Headquarters main tower, just outside of the Generals' conference chamber where Soarin had been waiting for Spitfire. The lobby is painted white with gold trim on the walls and Celestia's sun on the elevators and doors. There is also a line of freshly cleaned windows that allows the occupants to see the Canterlot skyline and for sun to shine its light into the lobby. Though, shortly after Thunderlane and his two superiors arrived, Spitfire dismissed Silver Lining and Misty and told them to go to their perch.

Now that Silver Lining is out of the way, Thunderlane feels a little better, but Rainbow Dash is still giving him sour looks. Thunderlane swallows nervously and looks to Spitfire and sees her talking with Soarin, then he looks back at Rainbow Dash and sees her giving a really evil look to the pale blue stallion. It almost looks like she wants to punch him right in the nose, much like what he wanted to do to Oliver, but he still takes a deep breath and approaches the Element of Loyalty.

“Hey, Rainbow, about this morning,” begins Thundelane nervously.

Rainbow Dash's hoof snaps up, barely missing his muzzle. “Don't wanna hear it.”

“I just want to-”

Thunderlane is cut off when Rainbow Dash hooks her hoof around his neck and tugs his head down so their snouts are squished against each other. Her eyes narrow into slits and she releases a barbaric growl with her teeth exposed and face darkened with rage, making Thunderlane's eyes shrink to dots and his ears droop.

“Silver Lining told everypony that we fucked on your couch last night!” she says in a very harsh, hissing whisper.

“But-but we didn't,” stammers Thunderlane as beads of sweat roll down his face and neck as hot blood rushes to his face and ears.

Rainbow Dash shoves Thunderlane away. “Well, you gave him that idea when you said we cuddled.”

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I told Silver Lining that we rested, then I accidentally said 'cuddled' instead of 'rested' when I tried explaining what was going on after you got out of the shower.”

Rainbow Dash stares at Thunderlane, still squinting and face wrinkled from her toothless scowl, and when he offers a nervous smile, she cranes her head back, groans angrily, and stomps away. Thunderlane's smile flips upside down instantly, and he watches the Element hurry away from him, now more confused and worried than before since he has no idea what he did wrong this time. He watches the vibrant mare storm her way past her teammates and looks away when she takes a seat by the window and stares at him with a scornful expression. Seconds later, Fleetfoot approaches Rainbow Dash and Fire Streak walks towards Thunderlane while Spitfire remains talking to Soarin.

Thunderlane glances at Fire Streak out of the corner of his eye before lowering his gaze to the floor, speaking coyly. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Good afternoon, Hurricane,” replies Fire Streak lightly. He looks at Fleetfoot and Rainbow Dash, snorting a laugh. “Mares are a real hoof full, aren't they?”

Thunderlane nods, eyes still on the bland carpet. “Yes, sir.”

Fire Streak hesitates. “Look, Hurricane, Silver Lining told me and Spitfire what he thinks happened, but we know its not true, so you don't have to worry about any type of punishment from us.”

Thunderlane looks up at Fire Streak with a glint of hope in his eyes and ears raised as a smile of relief spreads across his muzzle. “Really, sir?”

Fire Streak nods. “Yeah. I would trust a blind pony's description of orange over any story Silver Lining has and Spitfire thinks you're too much of a coward to do the deed. So, you have nothing to worry about from us.”

Thunderlane's smile drops to a frown in sync with his falling ears with Spitfire's low blow remark, and he glances at the Major and Soarin when he hears Soarin chuckle anxiously.

“I don't know, Spits, I'm shaking,” he says, his voice quivering like the trembling hoof he is holding out for Spitfire to see.

Thunderlane expects his superior to give him a harsh look for this, much like what Rainbow Dash is doing, but when Spitfire smiles he is taken back. He rarely sees her smile, much less smile in the way that melts cold hooves with its warmth. Then the Major snuggles up next to Soarin's shoulder, which really confuses Thunderlane and the rest of the team, but it seems to relax the older stallion. But relaxing or not, this act briefly gets Thunderlane's mind churning out ideas that maybe someone had slipped something special in the coffee or almond creme.

“You'll do fine,” assures Spitfire. “Celestia doesn't just pick random ponies to lead her armies. She picks the best of the flock, and she picked you. That should tell you something.”

Soarin swallows. “I know, but this isn't a show, Spitfire. This meeting will determine a turning point in Equestria, and I don't want to botch it.”

Spitfire smirks. “Well, how about this. Do your job well and I'll-”

She leans in close and whispers something in his hear that no one can make out. Thunderlane leans forward with Fire Streak, straining himself to hear the indiscernible whispers, but when the Captain of the Royal Guard's cheeks ignite and his wings unfurl, the two stallions step back. While Thunderlane steps away, he can't help but see that Fleetfoot is giggling at Rainbow Dash pretending to puke as she turns her head away from the two older pegasi.

After Spitfire is done giving her mysterious promise, she pulls away with half lidded eyes and curled lips that brings out the most erotic of fantasies for any stallion looking at her. Soarin is no different, and since she promised something that will no doubt be pleasurable, his light blue coat is now darkened with his wings fully erect as the blood rushes to them.

“Deal?” purrs Spitfire with a wink and a playful nudge.

“Deal,” croaks Soarin. He quickly clears his throat and flashes an excited, but still nervous, smile as he bobs his head for a quick nod, and speaks again in a less dry voice. “Deal.”

“Go get 'em.”

Soarin nods again and uses great restraint to keep himself from prancing away like a school colt who just got his first kiss from his crush, and uses greater strength to force his wings down.

Thunderlane watches the pale blue pegasus strain himself in nigh painful measures in his walk to the chamber. He continues watching Soarin when he pushes open the doors to the chamber and glances at Spitfire after the doors seal him on the other side.

The rest of the team is also watching their superior, who has a smirk of her own, but she realizes she is the focus point of the group, she turns to them with a large frown.

“What are you looking at?” she says sharply.

The team mumbles a jumble of responses and they back away to go to their stations, and when they are facing away from her, she smirks and takes a position by the chamber doors.

Hours later, night has fallen over Canterlot, turning it into a ghost town. Only lampposts and very few lights from apartment buildings are turned on. Not a single civilian dares to defy the national curfew as armored wagons make their patrols, spewing gray exhaust into the air while the gunners manning the Gatling guns scan the urban jungle for threats.

In the sky, flying ten blocks away from the two story concrete wall surrounding the mini-city of the Royal Guard Headquarters, is Oliver, Cover and Zone. They are gliding through the air, completely at peace with their surroundings and keeping up with their five minute updates. In fact, Oliver just finished giving an update not even a minute ago, giving him a little over four minutes to have a nice chat with his ladies before he needs to give another status report.

“So, Light Cover and Speed Zone, I was wondering if you ladies would like to go to Klumsy K's with me tomorrow night?” says Oliver over his radio, looking over his shoulder to grin and waggle his brows at the mares, even though he knows they can't see his face.

Light Cover presses her hoof against her helmet. “And what about the rest of the team?” she asks playfully.

“Yeah, what about me, Bolt?” asks a stallion over the radio. “Aren't I pretty enough for you?”

“Fly Leaf, if I were gay, you'd be the first stallion I would bang. I promise,” says Oliver cheerfully.

“Thanks for the creepy compliment, sir.”

Oliver smirks. “No problem.”

Then his smile fades and he squints his eyes as he spots a faint, glowing object coming towards them from between the highrises of Canterlot.

“Lieutenant Bolt to Outpost Seven, we sighted an unknown aircraft making a quick approach towards the HQ. Over,” says a stallion over the radio.

“Outpost, I see our unwelcomed guest. Call it in to Lieutenant Sentry. Over.” Oliver switches the channel so he talking to his team. “Fly Leaf, get your posse's tails over here to Section Seven-H, right now! We got company!”

“Roger that!” says Fly Leaf heavily over the radio.

Oliver waves up the two mares behind him. “Let's go, Zone and Cover!”

They don't say a word, but follow their zooming commander as he flies straight to the strange aircraft. Oliver scrunches his brows and aims his weapon at the strange craft, noting the colorful, polluted steam spewing from its exhaust pipes and blurred blades of its propeller engine bolted to its roof.

“What the hell...?” mutters Oliver.

The craft slows and turns to its side, revealing its cylindrical design, military camouflage on its thick armor, and TGSR-505 and the Bernese Republican Guard symbol painted on its tail. The door slides open to reveal the ibexes crammed inside, all armored, armed and wearing masks with one sliding a Gatling gun in place.

Oliver's eyes widen, and when the massive gun points to him and starts whirring and spinning, he banks to the side shouting into his radio. “It's Bernese!”

And that is the last thing he says before his channel fuzzes out with gunfire.

Flash Sentry is sitting in a brightly lit room crammed with communications equipment and ponies wearing headsets, listening intently to the chatter. He is also wearing a headset and has heard of a call-in of a strange aerial vehicle approaching the Royal Guard Headquarters, and just to be safe, he ordered the nearest bunker and a convoy to be put on standby. He also called in an anti-aircraft unit, but because they have a “low supply”, he has been given a completely unacceptable ETA, and he made it adamant that they cut their time to a quarter with colorful words and a raised voice.

He had alerted Spitfire of the event -air defense fiasco included- and she took it how he expected. Furious and no filter in her words about his stupidity. Especially in regards to the anti-air unit. Her outburst on that actually has him shaking more than the possible air threat. Though, when one of the mares on communications calls, he breaks out of his thoughts and is given news that no security officer wants to hear.

“Sir, we just lost contact with Lieutenant Bolt!” says the mare, her voice frantic and eyes darting between the stallion and her equipment.

“What!” Flash Sentry briskly approaches the desk, heart thumping in his ears and panic weighing down his thoughts and all attempts to stay calm. “What happened!?”

“Outpost Seven identified an aerial vehicle heading towards HQ and Bolt's team went to intercept. Last words from Lieutenant Bolt was-” she swallows “-It's Bernese.”

“Sound the alarm! ” Flash Sentry whirls around and waves towards a group of a dozen Military Police ponies, all armed with rifles and battle saddles and protected by simple vests. “Lock this building down and get to the Generals! We are at Code Black!”

The soldiers shout their acknowledgments and they stampede out of the room, barking orders into their radios while Flash Sentry makes a run to the stairwell, knowing it will be quicker to fly than to wait for an elevator. He shoves the door open, gallops into the concrete passage and completely ignores the “No Flying” sign when he launches himself up with his hoof pressed against his headset.

“Major Temper to Lieutenant Sentry, we need to get those Generals out, right now!”

Soarin sits in a circular, dimly lit room, completely oblivious to the converging troubles. There are dozens of Generals sitting in a circle around a large table, where the only opening is for a projector to sit. Every seat has a small lamp next to it for easier reading, and the projector is displaying a detailed map of Bernese with known military bases marked by crossed swords. Currently, the Generals are discussing potential invasion plans, but Soarin's heart is not in the tense conversation. Rather, he is keeping his focus on the Equestrian Investigation Bureau's report on the Stadium Bombing that he requested before the meeting.

He is studying all the testimonies and is referring to another folder with information regarding the assassination of the Berenesenese Generals. Soarin has no doubt that there is a connection between the assassinations and the bombing, but he is finding the chain of events between the two to be suspicious. Especially since the bombing took place so quickly after their framing.

Soarin sighs and pushes the two folders aside to drag another one in front of him. This one has a sun inside a shield with two swords crossing behind it- the seal of the Royal Guard.

He flips it open and sees differing maps of Bernese. They range from road to topographical maps, and political maps to the one projected on the screen right now. He tries to stay focused on the Generals and their discussion, but his mind keeps dragging him back to the events leading up to this.

He doesn't like it. Any of it. He doesn't like that a team of highly trained, very loyal agents would wage a one squad war against a foreign government when their objective was to observe and report. He doesn't like that Bernese -a nation with a strong stance against terrorism- would shout their name before detonating a bomb in a crowded stadium. None of it makes sense to him, and he has a sickly feeling in his gut that someone is playing not just them, but Bernese as well.

Soarin furrows his brows and the paranoia in him makes his stomach churn as he struggles to think who would purposefully want to pit two nations into a war. He sees no logic or motive behind it, and that sends a cold feeling crawling up his spine with the thought of a shadow enemy purposefully trying to set the world on fire just for the fun of it.

“Captain Pansy, what are your thoughts?” says a gruff stallion.

Soarin gets a pang of annoyance from his unfavorable surname being used as he looks up at the speaking General. He is a turquoise pegasus with a black mane combed back and four stars on his his uniform.

“Sorry, what was that?” says Soarin, letting just a bit of his irritation show in his tone, hoping they would get the hint.

“I was saying -with the approval of you and Princess Celestia- we can launch a crippling strike against Bernese,” says the pegasus, General Burnt Dust, clearly not getting the verbal hint. “With my invasion plan, we can take Buchtseite and remove Maßstab within a month and put in an Equestrian friendly government within two.”

Soarin looks down at Burnt Dust's copy of the invasion plan, noting how he wants to employ nearly every zeppelin and armored vehicle in their arsenal for what he has called: OPERATION: ICHAIVAL.

Just from the plan alone, Soarin can see that Burnt Dust will use every means he can to raze Bernese for a crime that he has doubts they actually committed. The plan itself reminds Soarin of when Roar Shock -a.k.a. Love Joy- escaped at Glorieta and how his attempts to find the terrorists resulted in him creating an artificial desertification in the region around the town. Just thinking about how he destroyed an entire region to find Love Joy reminds him what the deranged pegasus told him from his cell about being similar, and that sends a shiver up his spine. And now Burnt Dust wants to wage total war against a new enemy, just like with him and Love Joy, and Love Joy with Equestria. Soarin finds himself really despising this total destruction cycle that seems to be a pegasus trait.

“With Maßstab removed and a friendly government installed, we will have created an ally and the threat of a homeland attack will be minimized,” predicts Burnt Dust confidently, bringing Soarin's mind back to the conference. “It is the perfect opportunity to rebuild our influence and create a satellite state that will add a layer of protection and give us more resources.”

Soarin looks up from the invasion plan and sees the Generals voicing their approvals with pleased murmurs. All but one that is. Soarin sees the newest member of the cabinet, a one star earth pony General with a dirty blonde coat and a red mane and scruffy beard of the same color around his muzzle. He is looking at ICHAIVAL's design with growing dissent, and his golden eyes flick to Soarin for just a second before he puts his attention back to General Burnt Dust and his proposition for total war against Bernese.

“You make it sound like this war will be an easy victory,” says the dirty blonde General, his loud voice bouncing off the walls and gaining everyone's attention.

Soarin leans forward in his chair, hooves under chin, watching the earth pony, Brigadier General Signal Horn, eye the group of Generals with a mix of disappointment and disgust.

“It will be if ICHAIVAL is executed properly,” says Burnt Dust with furrowed brows.

“On paper it looks promising, but do you honestly think Maßstab will go easy?” says Signal Horn, his voice lowering and made more dramatic by the dim lighting. “Much less the ibexes of Bernese willingly accepting a forcefully installed government that is friendly to the very nation that destroyed them in the first place? Then think about their allies and the loyalists who will fight for Maßstab to be reinstated.”

“What exactly are you trying to say, General?” sneers Burnt Dust. “If ICHAIVAL is executed properly then Maßstab's forces will not have the strength to counter us. Much less wage a guerrilla war against us and whoever we install. Our war will be quick and decisive, and that is final!”

Signal Horn's eyes narrow, hooves now pressed in front of his muzzle like a steeple. “That is where you are wrong. You are gravely underestimating the scope of what is to come. We are not talking about a war with just Bernese, but with their people and the armies of every ibex nation as well as the pony nation of Germaneigh. Even with the aide of Prance and the Crystal Kingdom, we are still outnumbered and outgunned, and you can expect this war to be brought to our shores within weeks of the first fired shot.”

“They lost their best Generals, Signal Horn,” counters Burnt Dust with a hard flap of his wings. “And yet you are still scared to have those goats pay for what they did to us?”

Soarin glances at Burnt Dust, noting the stonewalling demeanor that he thinks to be not only childish, but completely stupid. Especially in a time like this. However, the new Captain of the Royal Guard remains silent, and looks back at -what he just now realizes- is the only earth pony General in the chamber.

“You did not hear me, General Dust,” says Signal Horn, the patience in his tone quickly dwindling. “We are not just going against Bernese, but against Ibexia and Hornland, and the dozen other nations of Ibexian as well as Germaneigh. All of which are warrior nations with disciplined armies. And what do we have? Academics, jewelers and bakers.”

While the other Generals stare at the lowest ranking member of their group with disdain to mask their denial of the truth, Soarin looks at him with a full acceptance of his words. The seconds tick by and the Brigadier General scans the room, silently scorning the harsh looks, and Soarin patiently waits to see if anyone will try to rebuke his statement. But the silence remains, and the earth pony lets out a loud sigh and casually tilts his head down and pretends to pay great interest to his copy of Burnt Dust's invasion plan.

“But, in all things logical, an army of artisans should do just fine against a unified continent of warrior nations,” says Signal Horn without filtering the sarcasm in his tone.

Burn Dust glowers at Signal Horn, but before any heated words can be exchanged, Soarin lifts up his hoof to silently get the room's attention. It works miracles since all eyes return to him in the dimly lit chamber.

“He's right, General Burnt Dust,” says Soarin. “Regardless of Bernese losing their best Generals, we have to consider their soldiers, their history, and their allies. These are not just mindless beasts on our frontier or small groups dabbling in dark magic. We will be facing nations that have spent hundreds of years waging wars and engaging in border skirmishes. Their threat to us should not be underestimated.”

Soarin lets it sink in, watching as their expressions betray their thoughts on his caution. He doesn't like how most are not pleased with his statement, but he knows that Signal Horn has a point and he finds disgust poisoning his thoughts about their carelessness on the earth pony's warning. However, there is one thing that Signal Horn has overlooked and despite Soarin's uneasiness on the whole situation, he knows that war is coming so it must be put on the table.

“But that goes without saying that we have an advantage,” he adds, earning creeping smiles from many of the Generals and a skeptical look from Signal Horn. “We have natural flight and magic on our side. We also have brilliant scientists and a strong economy, and if we unify all these aspects skillfully, we can end this war by Hearth's Warming Eve with minimal resources. All we have to do is plan carefully and hit them where it hurts in quick, calculating strikes.”

“Get that anti-air up, right now! This is a Code Black! I repeat! Code Black!” barks Flash Sentry over the radio.

“Dust, knock that thing out of the sky!” orders Spitfire on another frequency.

“Way ahead of you, ma'am!” replies Lightning Dust.

As the frantic chatter continues, the main pilot keeps his eyes locked on the target with steady hooves and a tight jaw while barely glancing at the instruction sheet. The copilot, on the other hand, fumbles with the buttons and knobs, and he looks at the radio when Flash Sentry speaks. When the acknowledgments start coming in, he gulps and looks over his shoulder to Cutter.

“They know we are coming!” says the copilot in a fit of panic.

Cutter -now wearing the appropriate combat gear and fatigues- clambers on over to the pilot’s seat and glances out the window to the tower. They are close, but not close enough to do the damage needed.

“Activate the boosters,” orders Cutter. The pilots nod and start flipping switches, pushing buttons in a flurry of movement, and Cutter turns to the others on board. “Get the cannon ready!”

The group quickly acknowledges and gets to work. Gears crank, coils spark, and mechanical whines overpower the senses, and Cutter glances out the window, smiling with satisfaction when he sees a turbine-like booster roll out of the back and sputter to life. The glow is faint at first, but after a couple of spins, a red, electric orb appears and blows out an exhaust of magical energy. The helicopter lurches forward, the ibexes manning the turrets and cannon clutch onto their weapons tightly, eyes bulging from the unexpectedness of their burst in speed. Cutter also has to wrap his hoof around a bar to keep himself from falling, and with the screaming wind rushing in, he partially wonders if any one hear anything, but he still raises his hoof and keeps his eyes on the tower in preparation for his order.

“On my command, fire the cannon!”

In the Generals' meeting chamber, the door slams against the wall with a gunshot sounding BANG as Spitfire almost pushes the door off of its hinges. All of the Generals in the room jump up from their seats as her team, Flash Sentry and the Military Police swarm in.

“Spitfire, what’s going on!” demands Soarin.

“We need to evacuate now!” barks Spitfire.

The senior staff's confusion is heard in their murmurs as Thunderlane and the other soldiers try to usher the officer's out. During this, Spitfire hastily approaches Soarin while Fire Streak trails her.

“Security has been compromised. We’re taking you to a secured bunker,” says Spitfire to Soarin when she is next to him, then to her team and the Military Police officers: “Stop slacking and get everypony out of here right now!”

Soarin puts up no fuss when Spitfire nearly drags him across the room while the others work to get the Generals out. As this happens, Fire Streak keeps a watch on the window while ushering Burnt Dust from his seat, but he pauses and swears when distant gunfire rattles in the distance.

Thunderlane is still herding the officials out when he hears this, and he squints his eyes when he looks in the distance to see a strange, dimly lit aircraft with propellers and turbine engines zooming towards them. Coming from the turbines is a hazy, red trail and the aircraft is spewing a stream of tracers that attack the intercepting pegasi. Some of the pegasi fall their deaths and others make a hard landing in neighboring buildings, but not without doing some damage to the craft itself. He can see the burning smoke mixing with the exhaust as it makes it approach, but it does nothing to alleviate the tension or suffocating fear that Thunderlane and the whole room is facing.

“This is Lieutenant Dust... Target is damaged... But still on the move...” wheezes the fallen soldier over a fuzzy channel. She then has a particularly painful, bloody cough. “Hurry with the evac!”

“Go! Go! Go! Everypony out now!” orders Spitfire with a wide arcing wave of her hoof.

The crowd almost turns into a stampede, and as Thunderlane waves the crowd to the puny exit, he notices the considerably closer aircraft turning to its side to show off a cannon and a Gatling gun next to it. It is no doubt that even with the masks on the assailants are ibexes. And Thunderlane has a sick feeling in his gut that they are smiling.

“EVERYPONY DOWN!” yells Thunderlane.

Thunderlane tackles Signal Horn to the ground right as the aircraft fires. There is a thunderous boom, a split second whistle, and then an explosion that carries plaster, tile, and ponies back into the center with a dark cloud of smoke. The panicking screams and cries of pain are drowned by the relentless rat-a-tat-tats and buzzes of gunfire that are exchanged between the two sides, with one mercilessly cutting ponies into bloody ribbons and the other barely doing any damage. One such pony gunned down is Burnt Dust, who takes four rounds along his body, dead before hitting the floor, and another is Soarin, who is shot in the hoof and wing.

Soarin screams in pain and collapses on the ground, clutching his pouring wound towards his chest and pressing his injured wing to his side as Spitfire stands over him protectively.

“Take that damn thing down!” shouts Spitfire as she unleashes her weapon’s full potential against the attackers.

Spitfire flinches with one of her front hooves giving out when a line of bullets bounce off of her suit in a tiny explosion of light and metal fragments. She growls and stands at full height, unloading more of her Gatling gun's ammo into the craft as MP's carry Soarin out. Spitfire walks backwards, using herself as a shield to keep Soarin and the MPs safe from the onslaught.

“Lining, there better be a good reason why you aren't shooting!” screams Spitfire into her radio.

“Misty and I are relocating for a better shot, ma'am,” says Silver Lining in a disgustingly calm tone over the radio.

Flash Sentry rolls away from a spray of bullets and awkwardly shoots at the craft by using his hoof while he shouts into his radio. “Where's our anti-air!”

A bullet then blows open his shoulder and rips a chunk off of the hoof holding the pistol. The impact sends him into the wall and he slides to the floor, screaming through gritted teeth as plaster and brick bits rain down around him and the growing pool of blood. Three Military Police ponies rush out from the hall, returning fire with their levitated rifles, but one is killed by a round to the head and chest before he can get halfway to the fallen officer. One of the survivors manages to put Flash Sentry on his back, and he makes his escape back into the hallway while the other one returns fire against the enemy aircraft.

While all these happen with Spitfire and Flash Sentry, Thunderlane acts as an armored meat-shield for Signal Horn and deals weak blows against the attacking craft. The aircraft has yet to go directly against him, but Thunderlane’s heart still races as agonizing screams and whizzing bullets overload his senses with dropping bodies, sparks and streaking tracers haunting his line of sight.

Thunderlane shoots another round that does absolutely nothing against the aircraft’s metal shell when Rainbow Dash slides next to him.

“Come on! We gotta get airborne!” she yells over the chaos.

“Stay down!” orders Thunderlane to Signal Horn.

The Brigadier General nods and Thunderlane scrambles to his hooves and follows Rainbow Dash out. They duck and weave through the streams of bullets ripping apart everything in their path, using the hole in in the wall to enter the hallway. When the attackers threaten to chew them up with lead, they dive to the floor and let the barrage of bullets and minced brick pass overhead. Thunderlane casts a worried look at Flash Sentry as Fleetfoot injects his pale and shaking body with morphine while a medic wraps his wound with gauze that quickly goes red and leaks blood. When the bullet stream goes over the group, they duck down with Fleetfoot covering Flash Sentry, and Thunderlane and Rainbow Dash take the opportunity to run to the stairwell.

The two Wonderbolts gallop past the reinforcements, go to the stairwell, now dark with red lights swirling and the screeching alarm bouncing off the walls, and fly up the last level to reach the roof. Rainbow Dash uses her shoulder to push open the metal door and the two pegasi run across the rooftop and without so much as a thought they leap off and let their wings do the rest.

They soar into the night, getting the bare minimum appropriate distance before banking for a counter offense. During this, Thunderlane sees smoke billowing from the conference room as well as glass, brick, and other materials falling below. He also notices one of the attackers looking at them with another Gatling gun.

Before a word can be said, the ibex unloads a spate of hot lead their way. Thunderlane dives down, Rainbow Dash veers up, and the building behind them loses an entire section worth of decorative windows.

Thunderlane swoops under the craft, staying just underneath its belly and he aims at the smoking turbine engine. He drops the idea of controlled shots and shoots at the damaged engine as fast as his bolt action will allow until the empty clip pops out and tumbles down to the darkness below. Inside his helmet, the red light turns on and the buzzer tortures his ears.

“Crap!” Thunderlane uses one hoof to press activate his radio and the other to push his reload lever. “Keep them busy, Rainbow! I'm reloading!”

“Way ahead of you, Thunderlane,” answers Rainbow Dash as she does a barrel roll to evade the endless supply of bullets going after her.

She then turns around and fires a barrage of bullets that bounce off the shell of the aircraft and forces the ibexes inside to cower. The one manning the Gatling gun rises again and is about to unleash another wave of lead, but a thin gray line streaks across the dark sky and pops his head open. Thunderlane flies back, watching with wide eyes and a shortness of breath as the ibex with a half a head plummets to the cemented ground below.

“I got you covered, Thunder-Dash,” says Silver Lining over the radio. Another line of gray shoots across the night sky and strikes another ibex, who spins to the metal floor of the chopper, clutching his gushing wound as he cries out in agony.

The mechanics of Thunderlane's armor whirs in his ears as the gears turn to slide a fresh clip into his battle saddle. Once the clip is in, the red light in his helmet switches to green and a pleasant ding rings out. Seconds later, the light disappears, leaving the interior of his helmet dim once more.

“Ammo is back!” says Thunderlane over his radio.

The aircraft adjusts its position and Thunderlane follows its movements, keeping his eyes and barrel aimed at the damaged engine. He takes a deep breath, aims at a glowing hole with an exposed turbine fan spinning at blurring speeds, and starts shooting again. Thunderlane moves with the aircraft as it swerves in its spot, and he keeps shooting at the hole in the engine until it erupts in a brilliant show of red sparks and oily flames that lick against the vehicle’s shell. Thunderlane barely dodges some of the flying, burning metal and witnesses the injured ibex fall to his death, courtesy of the jerking.

The craft whines and spins chaotically as the remaining booster turns on a ball-and-joint system while exerting more energy to stabilize. Thunderlane can feel the heat past his armor and can see the booster’s strain clearly from how bright the metal is glowing. He moves out from underneath the aircraft when its overworked turbine engine nearly turns him into pony flambe, and right as he gets out from underneath, the aircraft stabilizes and begins to ascend for an escape with most of its crew either dead or injured. But Spitfire will not have the enemy escape on her watch!

The Major launches herself towards the cockpit and clings on it like a bug, using the tail blade and claws on her boots to keep herself locked on. Thunderlane swears he can hear the Major roar when she unloads her clip on the pilots inside, splashing her armor and what’s left of the window in crimson. Spitfire tears off pieces of the aircraft when she yanks herself off of its metal hide, and the corpses slump of the controls, putting the craft in free-fall, leaving a trail of burning smoke in its wake.

Thunderlane slides further away when he is almost nicked by the tail end and he cringes when the craft slams into the building that lost some good windows to their violence. A ball of fire rolls into the night like a solar flare, launching twisted metal, broken glass and burning bodies down below. Then comes the drop in noise, leaving just sirens and flames to take the night.

Thunderlane, Spitfire, and Rainbow Dash are hypnotized by the bulky wreckage hanging against the building, creaking and groaning with the crackling flames as it swings back and forth on its lousy nest. Some seconds later, it falls loose and rolls down the building, breaking more high quality windows and expensive masonry along the way, and it splatters down below, crushes a lavish fountain underneath it. All three Wonderbolts have a different reaction to this.

Thunderlane cringes, Spitfire snorts, and Rainbow Dash whistles.

“I don’t think they’ll be getting up from that,” says Rainbow Dash nonchalantly. Spitfire and Thunderlane look at her, letting their expressionless helmets tell her that her comment is not welcomed. Rainbow Dash looks at them a second later and chuckles while rubbing the back of her armored neck. “I mean: Good work, team.”

Spitfire just shakes her head and activates her radio. “Ground teams to Captain Temper. Enemy craft is down. I say again. Enemy craft is down. Be advised, number of hostiles is still unknown. Execute Rabbit Hole and Red Zone Protocols with extreme caution. Over and out.”

A series of acknowledgments go over the radio, and the rest of Spitfire's Wonderbolts fly up next to the three and all of them watch the small army of guards and EIB agents flood the crash site. Seconds later Spitfire looks at the gaping hole left in the tower by the attack, then down at an armored convoy pulling up at the entrance where Soarin and a few other high ranking officials are ushered in.

“We’re going to need some air cover, Spits,” says Soarin over the radio seconds later.

Spitfire sighs heavily and waves her team towards the convoy as she presses her hoof against her helmet.

“Roger that,” crackles her voice over the radio. “But we need to swarm the area to make sure we have no more hostiles and we need troops to double convoy security.”

“It’ll get done... I just need you right now,” says Soarin, his voice sounding more distant.

Soarin gives the order to triple the patrols while the other Wonderbolts in Spitfire's team go towards the convoy, but as the others fly, Thunderlane stays in his spot, staring at the site of the flaming wreckage below. He watches the MP coordinating a quarantine and a mini-train with an enormous water tank spray its payload. The way they work with their speed and efficiency is definitely a sight to behold, and Thunderlane doesn't abandon his observations until Spitfire taps his helmet.

“Get your tail moving, Hurricane,” orders Spitfire, though not in the usual crass way, more like a soldier who is weighed down with exhaustion after an adrenaline high.

Thunderlane nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

He flies with Spitfire, only sparing a couple of seconds to look over his shoulder to the crash site before picking up speed to catch up with the rest of his team.

In the shadows of the building the Star Raiser crashed into, Cutter uses his good shoulder to push open a bathroom door. He almost crumbles to the floor as he stumbles in with a pistol in his mouth and an oozing scratch across his other shoulder. He winces from the ripping pain in his injured shoulder as he slides his pistol back in its holster, and after doing that, he inspects himself to see the extent of the damage he has taken. He does not see anything life threatening, the only thing that has happened to him, besides the large scratch, is that his fatigues and armor have been burned as well as a majority of his body. The burns are not enough to hinder a hardened trooper like him, and, all things considered, he knows he could be in a lot worse condition and he is confident that he will be able to make his escape regardless of his injuries.

Cutter seethes when he pokes his tender wound, and he takes a quick look to see what he can find for a makeshift medical kit. He only looks for a few seconds before he breaks open paper towel and sanitizer dispensers on a wall and douses the brown towels in the clear liquid before stuffing as much as he can between his injury and the ruined fabric. He bites his lip, hissing from the burning sensation of the alcohol purging his wound of possible infections. Once that is done, he quietly opens the bathroom door and checks both ends of the hall to make sure he is alone. He shrinks back when a flock of pegasi fly by the windows, bathing the halls with their flashlights, but as soon as they are out of sight, he checks again.

This time he really is alone, and he takes a deep breath and limps as fast as he can down the corridor, hoping with bitter derision that Rotes is happy with what Storm Cloud has brought. The Gold Star is rising, but out of the terrors of war, and now his only wishes to return home safely and for the coming Hell to pass quickly.